


Acceptable Standards of Behaviour

by thewesterndoor



Series: Strange Neighbours [3]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Co-workers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Mutual Pining, Mutual Thirst, Rivals to Lovers, drunk Akira is a flirt, mutual obliviousness, neighbours with no boundaries, respecting boundaries, they are both disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewesterndoor/pseuds/thewesterndoor
Summary: Life is hard when you're responsible for a building filled with sex-crazed tenants, but it's made even more difficult when you have a thing for your co-worker.  Amon can just hope that he won't make too much of a fool of himself in front of the hyper-efficient Akira.  When a business dinner forces them to spend some time together things go in an unexpected direction...





	Acceptable Standards of Behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third fic in this series, but is meant to stand on its own (though I did put in some references to some of our other ships who live in the building).
> 
> As always, nekoshka deserves a lot of credit for being an awesome beta reader!

Amon barely had the chance to answer his phone before words were being barked at him.

“You need to tell whoever is living in 2B to either get some curtains or to stop masturbating in front of their window.”

Dropping back against his bed, Amon squinted through the dark at the glowing numerals of his alarm clock.

“Akira,” he groaned, “It’s six thirty.  Couldn’t this have waited?”

He wasn’t sure if it was possible, but Amon thought he might have heard Akira grind her teeth over the phone.

“If you didn’t want to receive calls at this time of day, then you should have put your phone on Do Not Disturb. And this has already been waiting. For  _ months.” _

Akira’s voice was clipped and business like, and Amon imagined that she probably dressed like she was going into the office when she was doing her resident manager tasks.  Unbidden, thoughts of what that might involve--Akira in a form fitting blazer, maybe one of those tight skirts librarians wore in old movies-- flooded Amon’s brain and he had to hold back a groan. 

Pushing aside the pooling warmth in his gut, Amon scrubbed one hand across his face.

“You said 3B?”

“Yes.  Mrs. Ross had her grandchildren over yesterday and you can imagine her horror when they looked outside and saw some guy jerking off right in front of the window.  She’s 3C in our building and she said it was the same floor, one unit over from her.”

Amon tried to remember who it was that lived in that particular unit.  Mostly he just got to know people as complaints came up, and he didn’t recall anything for them before.

“I’ll look into it today and see what I can do.”

“What you can do is start actually seeing to all the degenerates in your building.  The contract they’ve signed is quite clear about what constitutes acceptable behaviour.”

And just like that, Amon remembered why he had never made a move on Akira.  Already he could feel his shoulders tightening and a headache starting to pound at his temples.

“I’ll see to my building, you see to yours,” Amon said through gritted teeth.

He could hear a huff of breath over the line—what sounded suspiciously like Akira’s caustic laugh.  Amon could picture the exact look that would be on her face; her eyes would be cool, that assessing gaze that made him feel like a boy rather than the grown man he was.

“Don’t take this out on me.  You may have been doing this longer, but it’s not  _ my  _ problem that there are things that you miss. I don’t have time to tiptoe around fragile ego—especially not when there’s children being traumatized by neighbours painting their windows in cum.”

There was something about the way that Akira’s voice, low and husky, said the word  _ cum _ that shot straight through Amon, heat coiling in his belly. He tried to remind himself that they had a professional relationship, that she was one of the most infuriating people he’d ever known, but his cock really didn’t seem to care.

_ Maybe the building really is filled with degenerates _ , he thought miserably,  _ and I’m the king of them all _ .

He dragged his hand over his face, stubble prickling his palm.  It was too early for this conversation—how could he be expected to be professional and collected when he was still in bed?

That had to be the problem.  It certainly couldn’t be that he had any interest in Akira.  Not at all.

“I’ll talk to the tenants this morning.”

With her usual clipped efficiency, Akira simply said, “Let me know when it’s done.  Mrs Ross will want to know that it’s been handled. And of course I’ll have to update Duncan on the situation.”

“Yup.  Sure,” Amon said through clenched teeth before he hung up.

Any satisfaction that he might have got from that was cancelled out by the knowledge that Akira wouldn’t care.  She was so abrupt in everything she did that it was almost guaranteed that his brusqueness wouldn’t have registered.

Throwing the covers off, Amon hauled himself out of bed.  It seemed he had some tenants to talk to.

 

***

 

It was with equal parts horror and petty satisfaction that Amon glanced out his window and saw what appeared to be two men having exceptionally athletic sex up against the window of their apartment.

Dusk had settled so that the window had a fishbowl type quality where it was near impossible to miss the show taking place—taking place in Proudwood  _ Towers _ .  In Akira’s building.

After having to head up to 3B and sit through the most uncomfortable conversation of his professional life, Amon was only too happy for the chance to return the favour for Akira.

Eyes still locked on the second floor window, Amon pulled out his phone and dialled Akira.

“Yes?” she answered.

“This a bad time?”

“I wouldn’t have answered if it was.”

It drove Amon a little crazy just how unflappable she was.  Most of the time, it made him envious of how effortless everything was for her, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be the object of that single minded focus.  With Akira you could probably just…surrender.

At other times, Amon wondered what it would take to get  _ Akira  _ to surrender—to turn off her terrifying brain, and just…

Amon could feel his pulse going thick and heavy with the direction of his thoughts.

_ Not the time. Not the right person. _

“Just thought you should know that I’m looking out my window right now, and I can see some tenants in your building fucking,” Amon said, waiting to hear Akira crumple.

Instead Akira’s voice was steady and held her usual note of boredom.

“Can you figure out what unit? I’ll make sure to send them the memo regarding common living and acceptable behaviour.”

“Looks like it’s on the second floor, three in from the right…two guys.”

There was silence over the phone, the sounds of movement and Akira’s breath that told him she hadn’t hung up on him.

As Amon waited for her to respond, he was left staring up through the dark at the window.  It felt uncomfortably voyeuristic for him to still be watching, but he couldn’t quite pull his gaze away.  He preferred the softness and curves of women, but there was something undeniably erotic about the scene. Even across the distance he could see the way the face of the dark-haired man was twisting into a gasp, his torso flushed and his palms pressed against the window.  Every so often the other man would caress his partner’s neck, stroke his cock, whisper something against his ear, leaving him shuddering and panting.

Maybe Amon really was a pervert, because the show was starting to get him hard.  He wondered what it would be like to be that brazen…to be so focussed on pleasure, on the person with you, that the rest of the world faded away to nothing.

In his head, Amon pictured himself at the window.  He would lean forward to brush pale blonde hair out of the way so that he could press kisses against narrow shoulders.  He’d trail his fingers across her skin until the small weight of modest breasts filling his palm. With the lights on like that, they wouldn’t be able to see anything outside of the golden bubble of the room, and the window would be like a dark mirror reflecting back the way Akira would arch her body back against him, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck, how her hips would be shifting against his until all Amon would be able to think about was the need to bury himself in her—

“Alright, the email has been sent.  If it makes you uncomfortable enough I can go up and talk to them now, but otherwise I think that this might be sufficient,” Akira said, cutting through Amon’s fantasy.

Amon sucked in a breath, grateful that she couldn’t see him—that she couldn’t see the erection straining against his pants. How had he just been fantasizing about  _ Akira _ ?

“Yeah, no that’s fine,” he choked out.

“Well, if that’s all…”

“Yup.  Nothing else…” 

He needed to hang up.  Amon  _ knew  _ that, but he still wasn’t quite able to end the conversation.  Her husky voice grated along his nerve endings in a way that had frissons of electricity tracing up and down his spine.  It didn’t even matter what she was saying; his body had decided that even awkward business talk was enough.

“Oh,” Amon said with more force than necessary, “I talked to 3B, and they’ve promised to tone it down.”

“Good.  I’ll email Mrs Ross and let her know.”

“Okay,” Amon said, and on a whim he added, “Goodnight Akira.”

There was nearly a half minute of silence and Amon wished that he could disappear into a hole, or just burst into flames.

Finally, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it, Akira whispered, “Goodnight Amon.”

Long after the click of Akira hanging up, Amon continued to stare at his phone.  The sound of his name in that crushed velvet voice reverberated through him, sending off sparks.

That was the first time he’d ever heard her call him by name.

Amon groaned.  He was so colossally fucked. There was no way that Akira would ever have an interest in him. Ever.

Trying to squash all thoughts down, Amon went to the door, grabbing his keys and gym bag on the way.  He quickly pulled on his shoes and then headed out into the night.

As he crossed the parking lot to the rec centre, Amon was already trying to drown out his thoughts with the belligerent vocals of the Libertines.  It was either work out until he was ready to collapse or surrender to his thoughts and the small satisfaction of his hand, and only one of those options would allow Amon to be able to look Akira in the eye at the next property meeting.

It was going to be a long night.

 

***

 

There was a special place in hell for those that scheduled business suppers and then cancelled right at the last moment, Amon decided as he stared down at the screen of his phone.

_ Duncan: Sorry to do this, but something has come up.  Charge the meal to the company card, and we’ll try again when I’m back in town next month. _

Amon glanced around the entry of the restaurant, mounting panic making his chest tighten and his palms prickle.  With Duncan missing it would just be Amon and Akira having dinner, and the intimate candlelit tables looked far too much like something more appropriate for a date than two colleagues sharing a work meal.

Maybe he could simply cancel as well.  Akira wasn’t even there yet—Amon could send a quick text saying that he had come down with a cold…

“Did you just get here?”

Akira’s voice came from over Amon’s shoulder and he whirled around to face her.

All he could do was nod as the ability to speak left his body.  She looked…when she was dressed in her plain button-ups, always with the grey blazer and slacks, it was easier for Amon to remind himself that they were just colleagues, to keep his thoughts strictly professional— _ mostly professional— _ but… 

Akira wasn’t even dressed all that differently from normal.  She was still wearing a pair of slacks, though these were black and fit her in a way that made Amon very aware of the perfection of her ass and the flare of her hips.  Instead of her white button down, her shirt was black and draped, the fabric looking soft and clingy. Her hair was still in her usual style, braids twisting the front pieces back, but tonight she had chosen a pair of earrings that fluttered along the length of her neck.

“You look…nice,” Amon finally choked out.

Frowning, Akira glanced down at her outfit before she shrugged.

“It was clean.”

She looked him over, and for a second Amon could have sworn that there was an assessing look, some heat in her normally cool gaze. But of course, he had to be reading too much into it—the madness that had taken hold of him must be making him delusional as well.

“Are we just waiting on a table?” Akira said.  She leaned forward to peer around the interior of the restaurant.  “It seems pretty quiet here. Are you sure this place is any good?”

Akira’s movement had brought her close enough to Amon that he could smell her—vanilla and laundry detergent—and feel the heat rising off her body. A shiver worked its way through Amon and his lower abdomen clenched.

“Uh, I was waiting to see…well. Did you get Duncan’s text?”

Those cool hazel eyes turned back on him, though this time she was near enough that he could see the flecks of green in them.

“Yes. It would have been more polite if he’d let us know before I’d left, but he must’ve had his reasons.  It does highlight how inefficient it is for him to try to conduct business over dinner though. All three of us live at the complex—we have  _ offices _ there—so why go to the trouble of us all having to go to some other location?” Akira’s eyes were flashing as she spoke, and a flush was rising up in her cheeks.

Akira raised a hand to her cheeks, and for the first time in…ever, she twisted her lips into an embarrassed grin.

“Sorry,” she said.  “I…I was a little…I was a little nervous and I had a drink before heading over.”

Amon was stunned at her confession—stunned at the possibility that anything could intimidate the fierce Akira.

Before he could respond, a waiter appeared and escorted them to their table.  Menus were placed before them.

“That’s fine,” Amon assured her, as he glanced over the wine list.  “It is a little odd—there’s actually a lot of things that are odd about Duncan, but he’s pretty easy to work for.”

Akira smiled at him.  It wasn’t much more than just a slight quirk to her lips, but Amon felt a twist in his chest.

“Let’s get a bottle for the table,” Akira said, pulling the wine list out of Amon’s hands and setting it on the table.

Dinner was unexpectedly pleasant.  If Amon was honest, it was more than pleasant.  For all of their boss’s quirks, he had excellent taste in restaurants, and the fact that the restaurant was half empty just made it feel all the more intimate.

They had been seated at a corner table, high seat backs to the booths, and the the small candles made it so easy for Amon to imagine that they were the only ones there.

Over outrageously expensive starters, they swapped stories about previous jobs, and by the time they’d made it to dessert, the bottle of red was almost empty and they were comparing the worst things they’d walked in on at the rec centre.

Akira’s face was flushed, her eyes bright as she leaned forward.  The neck of her shirt dipped, granting Amon a glimpse of the creamy swells of her breasts and a hint of white lace.  His mind went blank and his mouth went dry. Desperately he glanced down at the white tablecloth.

It didn’t matter that they had just passed what was probably the best evening he could remember in a long while.  It didn’t matter that over the meal, Akira had reached across to let her hand brush against his. She was his colleague.  She deserved more than to have him panting after her—she deserved respect. And she had been drinking.

“And so then, I walked into the sauna and she was riding him,” Akira chortled as she finished her story.

“Wow, really?” Amon said, trying to reign back his thoughts.

“Yeah.  When I’d caught them in there before, they’d tried to act like they were just cuddling—and at least that time they’d still had their bathing suits on—but not this time.  I’ve been trying to convince Duncan that he should just get rid of the sauna. It never seems to work anyway.”

Amon gulped down his water, grateful when the waiter arrived with their bill.  The thought of  _ Akira _ in that sauna, of her sweaty and warm and climbing on top of him, was enough to break him.

Everything about the evening had been exquisite torture, leaving him both needing it to end and desperate for it to go on forever.

“Did you drive here?” Akira demanded,finishing off her glass of wine.

Amon nodded.

“Good.  You can drive me home.”

Amon wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d only had a glass and a half over dinner and was good to drive.

Walking out, Akira wrapped her arm around his and leaned close enough that he could feel her breath against his ear.

“Take me home, Amon.”

 

***

 

Somehow Amon managed to pull his thoughts together enough after Akira’s whispered words to guide her out to his car and to drive them both back to the complex.  As he pulled into his parking spot, Amon began to steel himself for the end of the evening.

As much as he wanted to keep it going, to see what Akira would say next and get more insight into the fascinating trail of her thoughts, Amon knew that he needed to get away as quickly as he could.  Watching Akira fumble with her seatbelt, it became alarmingly clear that she was drunker than Amon had realized.

He opened the passenger door and helped her out.  Akira’s small frame leaned heavily on him, and she smiled up at him brightly.  Even when she was sloppy drunk she was able to capture him with an effortless charm.

“Let’s get you home,” Amon said.

Akira giggled and started to stumble toward Proudwood Towers, pulling Amon after her.

The night was warm and close, and as they entered the building Amon caught the scent of jasmine from the bushes out front.  He tried to focus on that, or on the fact that the hallway appeared to have been painted recently—anything other than the feel of Akira leaning against him.  She had her arm twined around his, and occasionally she would slide in close until the curve of her breast was pressing against him. It was maddening and Amon wanted it to never end.

Finally, they were standing in front of Akira’s apartment.  With a little effort she managed to get her keys into the lock and open the door.

“This was a nice night,” Amon said, “We should try this again sometime.”

Akira looked up from where she was kicking her shoes off, her expression confused.

“You’re not leaving are you? You should come in.  More drinks.”

She didn’t wait for his response, just wandered off further into her apartment leaving her front door wide open.  Amon glanced hesitantly up and down the hall, weighing his options.

He  _ should _ leave; he knew that.  He’d seen her safely home, and now he should just close the door and walk away. Instead Amon followed her in.

_ This was a bad decision _ .

He found Akira standing in the small galley kitchen, two glasses on the counter as she poured out a measure of vodka into each. At the sound of his footsteps she glanced up at him, smiling and sliding one glass down the counter towards him.

“Good.  Here. Let’s toast,” she said.

Before Amon could even ask what they were toasting to, Akira had slammed back the drink and was pouring another.  That drink disappeared just as quick as the first, and it was only Amon grabbing hold of the bottle that stopped her from pouring a third.

“Hey, how about some water?” Amon said.

Akira rolled her eyes, her lips forming a pout.

“Are you going to be the fun police, Amon?”

She sidled up to him, pressing her hands against his chest.  Amon’s breath caught at the pressure of her fingers, the heat of her palms through his dress shirt, and when she slid one hand up to his shoulder he pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the tightness in his belly.

He grabbed her wrists to stop this from going any further.

“I just want to make sure that you’ll be okay,” Amon said.

“Always so serious.  So stiff. What would it take for you to get a bit messy—do you want to get messy with me Amon?”

Amon’s cock stiffened at her words, his gaze narrowing to those lips that were so close to his.  She was so close, all he would need to do was lean down and he could be tasting her. But even standing there, Amon could feel Akira swaying slightly; it was entirely possible that his hold on her was the only thing keeping her upright.  She was drunk, and as much as he had been longing to explore what was between them, there was no way it would happen tonight. He wanted her sober—wanted to know that any interest she had for him was because she was as ensnared as him, and not that she was confused and on the verge of passing out.

As gently as he could, Amon led her out of the kitchen and to the small entryway. 

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Akira swayed closer until her lips were brushing just above his shirt collar and she was nuzzling his neck.

“Yeah? That sounds promising.”

Amon sucked in a breath as his body caught fire with each caress. He felt the damp warmth of her tongue on his skin, the pressure just on the verge of pain as her teeth pressed against him.

“No,” he said, his voice thick with desperate need. “You’re going to drink some water for me and then get some sleep.”

“Doesn’t seem like fun,” Akira grumbled, but she allowed him to lead her down the short hall to the bedroom.

Inside her room she tugged her wrists free and flopped forward onto the large bed.

“Will you be okay for a moment?” Amon asked, wondering if he should be trying to put her in the recovery position.   “I’m going to get you water. I’ll be right back.”

Akira’s only response was a muffled grumble and to pull her plain white duvet around her until she was encased.

It didn’t take long for Amon to find a glass and fill it from the tap. Soon, he was walking back into her room.  

He froze at the sight before him.

In the few minutes it had taken him to come back, Akira had flung off the duvet and slipped out of her trousers; she was now in the process of trying to take off her shirt.  She had managed to get it up over her body, giving Amon a view of her lace clad breasts that would haunt him for eternity, and had somehow got the shirt entangled around her face.

Amon rushed forward, setting the glass down on the dresser and hands rising up to help her.

“Here, if you just relax, I’ll pull it this way, and…” 

The shirt slid up and off. She smiled at him.

“Thanks,” Akira whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

Seizing on the glass like it had any chance of cooling the heat flooding through him, he thrust it towards her.  Mercifully Akira didn’t put up a protest, just drank the water in long gulps. When she had finished, she crawled back onto her bed, tucking her legs under her and resting her head against the plain padded headboard.

With her eyes fluttering shut, she looked so vulnerable.  Amon couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward to grab hold of her duvet, pulling it up around her.  She sighed softly, a small smile on her face.

It was entirely possible—with enough determination—that Amon might have been able to get past his infatuation with Akira when it had just been fascination and fantasies; not likely, but  _ possible _ .  Seeing her looking so vulnerable and soft, Amon felt as though he had plummeted off a cliff edge.

“Are you going to join me?” Akira mumbled, her eyes still closed.

Amon wanted nothing more.  He wanted to have her pressed close, for her breathing to lull him to sleep, to be entwined with her.

“I’ve got to go,” he said.

“No,” she protested, “You can’t leave.  You need to stay.”

It was like Akira was possessed by every one of Amon’s base urges, giving voice to every terrible thought.

“You say that now, but it’s best if I leave.”

A small hand grabbed hold of one of his wrists.  Her fingers couldn’t even close around it, but her grip was surprisingly strong. Glaring at him like a vexed cat, Akira just tugged him closer to the bed and settled deeper into the covers.

“Let me…let me just go get some more water.  I’ll be right back.”

Her hold loosened and Amon pulled himself away.  He picked up the glass on his way out and hurried back to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, he splashed some of the cool water onto his face before he refilled the glass.  What the fuck was he going to do?

He couldn’t stay—he shouldn’t stay—but the way that Akira was…Amon also couldn’t just walk away.

When he finally returned to the room, her breaths were deep and even, and she didn’t so much as stir when he put the glass down on the bedside table.

Could he just leave a note?

His gaze roamed around her room, searching for some answer.  God, he just… he wanted to go to the gym. He needed to be pushing his body past the point of endurance until all of his thoughts turned off, until he could finally get this gnawing pit of want to disappear.  But he couldn’t leave. Not until he was certain that Akira wouldn’t asphyxiate in her sleep.

Instead he crept out of her room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and settled onto her couch.  It was late enough that most of the channels had switched over to shitty movies and paid advertising, and Amon finally settled on some reruns of NCIS.  When his thoughts kept spinning, Amon pushed her coffee table out of the way, stretched out on the floor and started to do push ups. That would have to be enough.

 

***

 

Akira woke to the pulse of pain in her head and the feeling that her mouth had gone dry.  Even groaning felt like too much effort, and when she rolled from her side over onto her belly, the small movement set off swirls of greasy nausea.

If she could just find some way to turn down the lights, maybe it would be fine.  Except the light in question, she realized with dismay, was daylight streaming through her window.

What she wouldn’t give—who she wouldn’t fuck—for a glass of water and  a super strength ibuprofen at that moment.

Like some benevolent deity had read her mind, when Akira’s attention made it as far as her bedside table she saw just what she had wanted.

_ Thank you past me _ .

She reached out, grabbing the bottle that had been left and shaking out a pill.  The water was room temperature and tasted as if it had been sitting out for a while, but she gratefully drank it down.

Was this what it was like to feel grown up? When your drunk self started to anticipate and prepare for the hangover to come?

But something about it didn’t seem right.  Akira was surprised that she had made it out of her clothes, never mind left stuff out in preparation for the morning.  She didn’t drink often—she was such a lightweight that it wouldn’t take much before she was making a fool of herself—but whenever she did, Akira was lucky if she even had ibuprofen in the apartment.

With the edge of her headache starting to fade, memories of the night before started to filter through.  She was supposed to have had a work dinner…

Horror started to dawn.

_ Oh god, Amon… _

When Akira had received Duncan’s text, the idea of having a meal alone with Amon had sent her anxiety spiking.  She’d been working at Proudwood Towers for six months, and all that time, she’d had a desperate crush on Amon.

How could she not?  He’d made a point of dropping in on her office hours to welcome her, helpful and so friendly, and all she had been able to do was stare at him in awe.  She hadn’t thought people like him existed outside of magazines. He was tall and broad, with the sort of jaw that looked like it belonged on an action figure. And that was before she knew about the swimming!

Even thinking about it, about the first time she’d seen him climbing out of the pool, had her body clenching and her pussy going damp.  She’d been standing at the balcony door with her morning coffee when she had seen him that first time—before she’d made it her morning ritual to watch Amon finish up his laps and walk away.  The water had clung to his chest, his dark hair slicked back from his face and his damp shorts sticking to his legs and groin. Even from a distance, what she had seen had been more than enough to fuel several sessions with her battery operated boyfriend.

And idiot that she was, Akira hadn’t been able to find a way to talk to him.  Not in a reasonable way. Not in a way that would let him know that she’d had incredibly vivid fantasies regarding the size and shape of his cock.  She would drop by his office or call him up with the intention of asking him out for a drink, or to just say hi, and somehow it would all come out businesslike.

Except for last night.

She’d taken a shot of vodka before getting a cab down to the restaurant, and by the time she’d arrived, so much of the usual worry had eased.  Midway through the meal, her memories started to get blurry, but Akira could still remember the sensation of being horny as fuck. 

With her blood on fire and her mind quiet, Akira had decided it was time to finally act on all of her urges.

Burying her face into the pillow, Akira screamed.  There was so much that she wanted, and somehow—even when she tried to go after it—she just ended up further away.

Now, she was going to have to find a way to avoid Amon for…the rest of her life was probably too short.  There was no way that she could make eye contact with him ever again.

It was tempting for her to just stay in bed.  The water and pill had already gone a long way towards fixing her hangover, but she still required toothpaste and coffee before she would be able to even contemplate staying among the living. Plus, it was Wednesday morning.  One of Amon’s days to swim laps. 

Akira staggered across the hall into the bathroom, quickly dragging her toothbrush around her mouth until she didn’t feel quite so much like something had died in there. Then it was on to the kitchen.

She didn’t make it past the sitting room.

There could have been a fire or an alien invasion and she wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes away from the sight on her living room floor.

Where the coffee table should have been, Amon was stretched out.  He was still wearing his clothes from the night before, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows.  His face was resting on his arms, and she could see the rise and fall of his broad chest.

He had stayed.

Akira didn’t even begin to know what to make of that. She could remember asking him to stay, feeling stupidly upset at the idea that he was just going to walk out the door and that would be it.  Waking up alone in her bed, she had thought that was as good as him declaring his lack of interest, but…what did it mean that he had stayed? That he had slept on her floor?

Even in sleep he was impossibly perfect.  His eyelashes were sooty fans against his cheeks, and her gaze kept getting pulled to the fullness of his lips. All of that intense sense of purpose that gave his face character should have been gone, but somehow Akira felt certain that Amon was probably being unreasonably perfect and upstanding in his dreams.

Carefully she stepped around his long legs until she was near his chest.  Kneeling down, she gave into urgent need and reached forward to push his hair off his forehead.  It was exactly as silky as she’d imagined and it took inhuman control for her not to sink her fingers in.

Amon’s eyelashes fluttered and Akira thought she might have heard a faint sigh. 

“You’re up,” he said, voice low and rough with sleep.

Just the sound of his voice like that was enough to have her nipples tightening and her pulse racing.  She wanted to hear him say so many things to her with his voice like that.

“Yeah.  You stayed.”

She tried to keep her tone neutral, but even to her own ears her words sounded accusative.

Amon blinked sleepily.

“Should I have left? Sorry, of course I should have left.  I was just worried after you…I thought you might…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.”

As if things weren’t bad enough, he had stayed because she had got so sloppy drunk that he’d worried about her. In the space of a single night, Akira had propositioned her colleague and convinced him that there was a real chance she might choke to death on vomit in her sleep. Emigration was clearly the only suitable response.  She could move somewhere very far away.

_ Or, _ she decided,  _ I can say fuck it. _

So what if she’d gotten drunk? She was hardly the first. There were whole movies about people getting trashed at office parties and doing stupid shit.  At least she knew that Amon was the sort of unfailingly nice guy who would never mention this to anyone—or at least, not mention it to Duncan.

Akira could weather a little—okay, a lot—of embarrassment.

There was the sound of strangled breathing, and Akira’s gaze focussed on where Amon had started to push himself up.  He had frozen, his eyes wide and focussed on her. Akira glanced down to see her bra and panties from the night before, and nothing else.

_ Fuck _ .

Amon’s cheeks went bright red, and before he averted his gaze, Akira had a chance to see how dark his eyes had gone.

“Sorry.  Bad habit from living alone.”

“You, uh, you do this often?” Amon asked, his gaze returning to her for a fleeting moment before he looked away again.

Maybe it was the hangover, or six months of unrequited lust, but Akira was feeling a little petty.  For all of the times he had left her damp, driving her to try to ease the ache with her own fingers or her vibrator, she felt it was reasonable for her to have a little fun now.

“Sort of.  Usually I don’t bother with anything,” Akira said.  As nonchalantly as she could manage, she added, “Do you want some coffee?”

“God. Yes. Please.”

“There’s going to be a price for it.”

“Yeah?”

Akira leaned close, very aware that her tits were all but in his face.  If she’d had tits of any great size they  _ would _ have been in his face.  She watched Amon breath in shakily, his nostrils flaring.

Did she have what it took to go through with this?  Before her was a man who didn’t seem  _ uninterested _ , but maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.  Maybe there was a reason he’d never expressed any interest in her before, and now he was just awkwardly wondering when he could leave and never do this again?

Breathing out slowly, Akira cleared her thoughts and focussed on what she knew—what she  _ wanted _ .  She wanted Amon.  If he didn’t feel the same then so be it, but she needed to know if there was ever a chance of this happening.

“Yeah.  The cost for one cup of my shitty coffee is that we go out.  Again.”

His bright gaze fixed intently on her, and Akira could feel the heat of it like a flame against her skin.

“Okay?”

“Is that a yes?” Akira said trying to hide her nervousness with a smile.

“I’d like that.  To go out with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Akira felt almost dizzy with relief, aware of how close she still was as she half-crouched in front of him.  It would take nothing for her to sink down on top of him, for her to grind against the cock she had imagined so many times, to bury her nose against his skin where he’d unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

“If you don’t get up now there is a very real chance that I will try to fuck you,” Akira whispered.

A hand stretched out, caressing the bare skin of Akira’s side, leaving her shivering.

Amon reached up to grasp her face and pull her down for a kiss. Sparks exploded as she felt his lips moving against hers, until finally he pulled back, leaving her breathless.

“I’m okay with that.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading/commenting/leaving kudos!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at thewesterndoor
> 
> Other fics in this series are going to involve different ships for various fandoms but I will be circling back to write more Amon/Akira.


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